


With Friends Like These

by WriterWithTheDragonRing



Series: Twigglezone Twinks [2]
Category: Twigglezone
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:06:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27226264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterWithTheDragonRing/pseuds/WriterWithTheDragonRing
Summary: Kinda wanna do some slice of life short stories between the instances of sex and violence, which may or may not be received well, but damnit characters deserve to live lives!
Series: Twigglezone Twinks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986019
Kudos: 1





	With Friends Like These

"Come on, Rami! I have needs!" Cried the horny ghost. 

As Halloween approaches, Caspar's incessant whining worsened. Although the others were quite used to his wailing, they still bemoaned this time of year. Even the other tenants would leave around this time, finding something to do until Caspar calmed down. 

"For the last time, my magic is better used on other things." Said the genie. Of course, Rami preferred being called a 'jinn', thinking 'genie' was too reminiscent of a certain classic TV show. 

"Like what!?" 

"Anything other than giving you a body to fuck up!" 

"Do you guys ever stop?" Asked an undead, bandaged-wrapped young man whose face is always conveniently obscured. 

"No. They're always like this." Sighed Wally, the only one in the apartment that wasn't obviously dead or some sort of strange spirit. In fact, the only strange thing about him was his ventriloquist dummy. 

"By the way, has anyone seen Liam recently?" 

"Now that you mention it. No." Said Rami, pausing from painfully pinching and stretching out Caspar's stupidly gummy cheeks. "Aky?" 

"Don't call me that." The mummy flatly replied. "And no, he's probably out with the teenage bitch." 

"I happen to think Rory is a wonderful witch." Caspar interjected. 

As they thought and they thought, pondering on the whereabouts of their horrendously unfortunate, occasionally headless friend, they were blissfully unaware of the messy situation he was truly in. Despite the plethora of situations he could be in, some terrifying, others quite delicate, Liam was in the absolute worse one he could find himself in. 

He was out in a place called Point Pleasant, West Virginia, or more precisely, on the outskirts. In fact, he was in two places. 

"This isn't funny anymore, Mason!" Liam cried, "I can feel something touching me!" 

Flying high in the sky was the mysterious mothman, a bug-like humanoid with great transparent wings. Despite how most humans imagine him, Mason didn't like flying around naked, nor was he especially tall, no matter how badly he wanted to be. 

He was flying around carrying a box, and inside that box was Liam's head. How he came in possession of the box is a story for another time.

"Ok, talk to me, what does your body feel?" 

Now here was his predicament.

His body was somewhere warm, seated somewhere comfy. Where ever it was, it was being pampered. Normally, Liam wouldn't mind being treated well, except that he has no idea who has his body. 

Thrn he felt the slight tingle of a fingertip on his bare back tracing out shapes and one letter: A heart and the letter U. 

"I know who has my body." 

It was worse than he thought.

Somewhere out in the woods, beyond the winding river, beneath the whistling trees, there is a humble house. Creeping vines and stinging nettle climb its aging sides, where time and nature have peeled the red paint and bore holes leading within.

There, among a collection of dried herbs, jars of preserved parts of beast and pest, bunches and clusters of mushrooms, was a cauldron of black iron, a devious brew bubbling within. 

A fire-headed witch doctor, with point ears and a stereotypically pointy hat, loomed over the vessel, stirring in fell ingredients and chanting odd spells as he went. 

"Boil, boil, toil, and...Doyle." he muttered, waving his delicate hands through wisp-like steam. "Cauldron...boil...forget it."

As the witch tossed in a handful of strange herbs, the mixture burped out a mushroom cloud of pink smoke and the once swirling liquid became a glittering, viscous white syrup. 

"Perfect." 

With a wooden spoon, he ladled a bit of the potion into a bowl and made his way through the old house to a locked door, leading down into the dark, dank basement.

"Down there!" Cried Liam, directing his flying lepidopteric friend to the forest below. 

"The old woods?" Mason inquired, "You think the dryads have your body?" 

"No. Worse." 

"Kieran? Isn't he a bit of a major size queen?" 

"Worse." 

As Mason gingerly touched down in front of the old house, Liam rattled about in his box, peeking through little eyeholes. The door creaked as it opened, the floorboards sang and warbled. Dust motes clung to Mason's feathery antennae, much to his annoyance. 

"Rory!" Liam yelled, his voice echoing through the walls of the seemingly deserted house. "I know you have my body, you stupid witch! Give it back!" 

Then suddenly, he felt warm liquid being slathered on his skin.

"Hurry!" 

Mason, ever the good friend, hurriedly scampered through the abandoned home, passing by a bubbling cauldron, a rather well-furnished livingroom, and a well-stocked kitchen. Then he found the doorway leading down to the basement. 

"Nice, a murder basement." Mason didn't seem concerned about the rather suspect portal, or the fact that it led to a creepy stairway and a long, dark hallway. 

A warm, orange glow shone from the cracks in the doorway, flickering and wavering as if by candlelight. 

"Don't worry, Liam." The mothman said, pulling the disembodied head from his box. "If he's doing anything to your body, I'll stop him with the power of friendship and this gun I found on the way here." 

Inside the room, Rory stood over the headless body of Liam, lying down on a rose petal covered bed, wreathed in delicate silken sheets and soft pillows filled with phoenix feathers. This made them especially soft, but prone to instantaneous combustion. 

As he poured his homemade massage lotion onto Liam's porcelain skin, the door was suddenly thrust open. Standing in the doorway was the adorably cuddly Mason the Mothboy, along with Liam's disembodied head, and he was brandishing a gun.

"Hear ye hear ye, unhand thy currency!" Mason proclaimed, firing a couple warning shots into the wooden ceiling, then gleefully giggling."I've always wanted to say that." 

"What the hell!?" Cried the witch. "You know I don't lock my doors, you could've just knocked!" 

"What are you doing with my body?!" Demanded the head. 

"Pampering it? Wait, you shot my ceiling because I was pampering your body?" 

"You kidnapped me!" 

Rory was visibly upset, insulted, aghast, appalled, downright hurt by the accusation. He may be into some rather specific and extremely kinky things, but he was not at all a kidnapper. 

"You wound me, love." He said, dramatically raising the back of hand to his forehead. "For you have me all wrong. I had liberated your body from a mischievous creature, who I'm sure was also responsible for trapping your head in a box." 

"Oh that guy?" Mason interrupted. "The traveling salesman? He didn't look like a bad guy." 

"You bought my body!?" Liam accused the witch. 

"To be fair, it was for a good price." Rory said. "And besides, I wasn't going to do anything to it. I was just taking care of it until you would come looking for it. Promise." 

Finally reunited with his body, Liam took a moment to savor the alluring, sweet scent of the witch's lotion. It was reminiscent of mango, a hint of lime. 

Before leaving, Liam turned back to Rory, suspicious as to just how truthful he was being. He could never tell with him. 

With the pair now gone, Rory let out a sigh of relief, a tinge of disappointment in his tone. He walked over to a closet door in the back of the room, where a large, black-furred werewolf was nervously hiding with a camera. 

"Guess we won't have our fun tonight, Brutus." 

Actually, his name was Lawrence, but Rory liked to call him Brutus. 

"W-well, maybe we could just hang out." Said the lycanthrope. 

"Fine, we'll be boring." The witch groaned, privately noting that he at least looked cute with his tail wagging.

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda wanna do some slice of life short stories between the instances of sex and violence, which may or may not be received well, but damnit characters deserve to live lives!


End file.
